“Angel, are you saying you’re a virgin?” I want her to say no, that this isn’t her first rodeo and we can carry on as we were, me getting high on her scent, taking my time with her sweet pussy and I can fuck her into Christmas, but another part of me wants to be her first, only my conscience won’t let that happen.
“If we’re not counting Mr. Snuggles, then yes.” She winces and looks away as if embarrassed by her own admission.
“Fuck.” I knew this was all too good. Just my fucking luck. I pull her bottoms up over her belly. Then tug her top over her breasts, fixing her back to how she was as if the last ten minutes never happened. “How is it you’ve kept hold of it this long?” My knuckles caress her rosy cheek as she looks away from me.
Her face turns to meet my gaze. “I never wanted anyone to touch me until now.”
My muscles burn as I hold myself back. A war rages in my head, my conscience fighting with the devil. Maybe one more kiss of her pussy. I tell myself I won’t go all the way. Just a lick, just one taste of her dripping cunt is all I need. But I know once I’m buried between her legs, I won’t be able to stop until we’re both satiated. There’s no way I can take her virginity. As muchas I want to claim her. She’s too good for me. I’m the sinner and she’s the saint.
“What’s wrong?” she asks with a weak voice and a film of tears glazing over her eyes.
“I can’t do this. Not now I know you’re a virgin. I’m sorry, angel. I should never have touched you like that.” My palm runs over my face. I’m such a fucking wanker. She’s Colin’s daughter, for fuck’s sake. What the hell was I thinking?
All the colour drains from her face. She turns away from me, deflated, as if the life has been zapped out of her. Before I can speak, she’s on her feet and marching upstairs.
A door slams at the top of the stairs, making me shudder. I groan inwardly, knowing I’ve really fucked up this time. She’s half my age. I’ve no business in touching her, getting any notions of making her mine. She deserves so much better than me.
Blitzen, the fucking deer on the wall, glares at me with his all-seeing glass eyes. If her dad does have a camera in the wooden sculpture, I’m well and truly fucked.
Her cries drift down the stairs and as much I need to stay away from her, I won’t have her crying in her bedroom. “I know what you’re thinking.” I roll my eyes at the fucking deer.
With a groan, I stand and pull on my jeans and shirt, then slump up the stairs, each step like I’m carrying a lead weight on my feet. I use the bannister to pull myself to her, all the time, guilt pulling me back, weighing me down and causing my body to ache.
I rub the pain in my chest as I stand outside her bedroom door, listening to her sobs. “Hey.” I knock on the door.
“Go away,” she shouts.
I ignore her plea and crack her bedroom door open, my breath fogging in the cold room. “It’s freezing in here. Come back downstairs.”
She turns her head and looks at me with venom in her stare. “Are you going to fuck me?”
“No.” I fold my arms over my chest, standing firm, but it’s mainly so I don’t reach out and touch her, as every fibre in my being wants to give in to her demands and wrap her up in a bear hug and tell her everything’s gonna be all right.
“Then I’m staying here.” She turns away from me, facing the window, snow coating the bottom half of the pane.
“Stop being a brat and come downstairs. You’re going to freeze to death in here.” My fingers twitch to spank her behind as she ignores me, her arse sticking out after turning her back to me.
Her head whips around to face me. “If you’re not going to fuck me, then I don’t want to be in the same room as you.” Her tears have dried as she turns salty.
“You’re not too old to get a spanking,” I growl, then huff, thinking she’d probably like that. “Take the living room. I’ll stay in the guest bedroom.”
She turns around, her body shivering. “You’ll freeze.”
“I’m used to being in the cold. I think that’s for the best.”
12
ANGELICA
The hum of electrical machinery from the garage wakes me. I roll over to the crackle of logs on the fire. A sliver of light shines through the gap in the curtain, telling me it’s morning. Sawyer must have put more wood on first thing.
My shoulders sag at the memory of Sawyer and last night. The word virgin makes me recoil, knowing I’m probably going to be one forever. I drag myself out of bed and slump to the kitchen, my heart heavy and weighing me down. I need to talk to him and clear the air. If only I could understand why he changed his mind so quick. He went from ravishing me like a dog in heat to avoiding me as if I have gonorrhoea.
I tried so hard not to cry last night, but all I did was prove him right by acting like a little girl. After the last few days, I thought he was finally seeing me for the woman I am. Then I had to ruin it all by telling him I’m still a virgin.
My chipped nails tap against the counter while I wait for the kettle to boil. My nipples chafe against my flannel pyjamas, still swollen from last night. The ghost of his lips lingers on my mouth, making my centre tingle.
His kiss was so much better than I’d ever imagined a kiss could be. My fingers trace my lips, then my neck and collarbone, still itchy from his beard.
